


Time to feel

by mariesondetre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dissociation, First Kiss, M/M, Newly Human Castiel, mostly gross fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 18:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11319243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariesondetre/pseuds/mariesondetre
Summary: Basically an attempt to describe how Cas feels now that he's human, compared to how he felt stuff as an angel...This is a gift for Therese, with a special bit for her inside:)As always, thank youRiefor the great beta-ing!





	Time to feel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/gifts).



Cas remembers. Well, he kind of remembers something, a different way of experiencing reality that lies just beyond his reach, now that he is completely human. He knows his sensations were different; he knows, intellectually, how he could feel Dean as a whole multitude of data he didn't have to gather to just know. What precise temperature Dean's body had. When his bladder was full enough to make him need to relieve himself. How tense the muscles in his back were. How his blood pressure varied through the day. Once, Dean has woken up with a crick in his neck; he came out of his room rubbing a hand to his nape and shoulder, and Cas knew the exact muscle fiber that was strained in his trapezius.

When he was still an angel, Cas could sense all these things in Dean, but feeling them himself was an abstract concept. He could tune them out, of course, let them drown into the white noise of all the other information that he was getting at once from other people and his environment. But he always reacted more strongly to Dean than to anything or anyone else.

He remembers clearly the first time he physically reacted to one of these pieces of data. He was sitting in a nondescript motel room with Sam, Dean showering in the bathroom next door. Cas hadn't been paying attention to what he was perceiving, but suddenly he felt the hormonal levels shift drastically inside Dean's body. Dopamine skyrocketed first, followed by endorphins and oxytocin.

Oh.

There hadn't been any noise. Dean wouldn't want him to acknowledge in any way that he had just had an orgasm in the next room, that much Cas knew, and he tried hard to turn off his ability to sense it, and maybe that was the reason why his vessel's cheeks flushed on their own accord. Cas tried to dismiss this reaction as the humans' weird social constructs rubbing off on him, but maybe he should have seen it as what it was: the first sign that his angelic nature would fade into a human one, that it was what he was destined to.

Now that he experiences what it truly is to have to pee or to hurt or to be tired, he can't sense these states in Dean anymore, and in a way, he laments it. But it was his choice, and he doesn't regret it. He fell very slowly, his grace leaving him painlessly, one feather-light bit at a time. Only the first and the last step were a conscious decision. The first, he'd taken the day he saw Dean's eyes turn black; in this instant, he swore to himself that he would help Dean get his humanity back, and that eventually he would share it with him, because that was the only thing that seemed right, in that moment when everything else felt so wrong.

 

The process had taken years to come to an end, to the closure he was aiming for.

It was an average hunt, weirdly, that closed the deal. Your standard salt and burn, nothing remarkable or worrying, and Sam couldn't go with them because he had a cold, of all things. But the ghost was making trouble in the neighborhood and Dean decided that he and Cas could deal with it by themselves.

Dean had done dozens of such hunts in his life, and he'd been shoved against walls and furniture more often than he cared to count, so it was really a surprise when this time, it panned out different; bad different. It happened so fast, just a second before the lighter touched the bones and the flames engulfed the ghost, that it took a beat for Cas to run to Dean's unconscious form, slumped on the ground after having hit a tree.

Cas knew something was wrong because everything felt still and silent inside him, and the foggy realization slowly reached his consciousness: all Dean’s data, the chemicals in his brain and his heartbeat, had been blown out like a candle, and a vague thought of the absurd fragility of the human life crossed Cas’ mind. The decision came clearer though, and quicker, like there was no question - and there wasn’t, really. He poured the last drop of grace that remained and still made him an angel into Dean’s body, lighting it in a blinding white flash. Dean jumped awake, like he hadn’t been dead for a few minutes, like it was just routine for him to resurrect. But the “Dean” that came out of Cas’ mouth, along with a light mist that travelled the short distance to Dean’s lips, wasn’t usual in any way. After that, Cas blacked out for a moment.

A handful of seconds before, Cas had been holding Dean's body like a Pieta, his body as still as the marble of Michelangelo’s statue, but now it had changed. Dean was holding him back, his palm pressed on the side of Cas' face, the fingers of his other hand digging into his shoulder.

“What have you done, Cas?” Dean whispered, slowly, as if he was struck in – horror, or awe? Cas wasn't sure. He suddenly felt very aware that he couldn't _feel_ Dean from the inside anymore, just see his expressions and read his body language. And he'd never been good at that.

“You know what I did, Dean. I chose that path a very long time ago.” He paused, searching into Dean's eyes what his fate would be, but he couldn't be sure, and he needed to. “For you,” he added, his voice betraying him, trembling.

“Will you stay, this time?” Dean asked, and Cas wasn't expecting the question because since when did Dean say such things out loud? But he didn't miss a beat answering: “If you'll have me.”

Dean didn't respond but just closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Cas' forehead, and they clung to each other, letting the hugeness of the unspoken promise sink into their bones and their guts and their hearts.

Then, they walked to the car, leaning against one another and mostly holding each other up. Dean called Sam, who was still in bed with a fever; he told him they were safe, leaving Cas' life-changing choice aside, keeping it between them both, at least for the moment. They drove back to the bunker, Cas sitting close to Dean on the front bench seat. Their shoulders touched, but they didn't speak.

When they arrived, Sam was sleeping. Cas was swaying on his feet with exhaustion, and Dean half-dragged him to his room without hesitation. They undressed quickly, slipped between the sheets in Dean's bed, no questions asked. Cas was asleep within minutes. He woke up once during the night with Dean's face squashed against his shoulder. When he woke up again in the morning, he was alone in bed, and Dean handed him a mug of coffee as soon as he wandered out of the room. He also dragged his hand down Cas' arm, giving his hand a small squeeze before releasing it.

Dean said that he was going to bring Sam tea and see how he was doing with his cold, but he disappeared in Sam's room for more than half an hour. When Sam finally emerged from his room, he came straight to Cas and engulfed him in a bear hug. He probably needed a shower, but all Cas perceived was a strong whiff of Vicks VapoRub.

 

That was just a few days ago, and neither Dean nor Sam have told Cas what their conversation was about that morning, but on that same night, when Dean got up and said “Come on Cas, let’s hit the hay, you still need to recover”, Sam didn’t bat an eye and just watched them go with a soft “goodnight, guys”. So Cas supposes that things are settled, even if he himself isn’t fully aware of the terms. Anyway, he doesn’t mind much, because he knows he still lacks part of the knowledge necessary to sort out relationships issues, and he’s too busy re-learning all the sensations and the tasks required to tend to his body.

And Dean isn’t behaving awkwardly or offhandedly; he explains things to Cas – practical things about hygiene and cooking – and when he’s not around, Sam does so too. They spend the following days in the bunker, as things are much slower these days; monsters got that it was in their interest to lay low, and apparently, since the demise of the British Dicks of Letters (as Dean has taken to call them), they’re having some sort of unspoken truce. So when they have to hunt, it’s mostly the random rogue ghost making trouble, and it’s easily fixed… unless an angel has to revive his soulmate by giving up the last dregs of his grace, of course.

That second night, when Dean says “let’s hit the hay” (Cas remembers a time when he wouldn’t have understood the expression and would have imagined Dean beating dried grass with whatever instrument humans used for this), they both walk up to Dean’s room, but Cas stops at the door. He doesn’t need the implications of sharing a bed explained in so many words, and he even hopes that Dean intends to make them text eventually, but right now, it’s a lot to take in. He needs time to adjust, and he’s not sure how to say it.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, stopping in the middle of folding the pants he’s just taken off. Cas nods, but can’t hold back a sigh. “Yes.”

Dean comes closer, two steps, and stops. “How do you feel?”

Cas hesitates. Putting things into words is so hard.

“It feels… a lot.”

“Overwhelming, you mean?”

“Yes. Being an angel wasn’t about feeling, more like… sensing. It could be too much as well, but I was used to managing it. Feeling… it’s harder to control.”

“I’m not sure I get it, but maybe I can help?”

“How?”

“Is there something you could concentrate on, maybe, that could help you… I don’t know, focus?”

Cas doesn’t really have to think about it, but he isn’t sure he can voice that out, and then he thinks about how Dean kissed his forehead, so he speaks.

“When I was an angel, I could sense all the vitals of the humans near me, so I had to tune it all down to a blurred murmur. But sometimes your heartbeat wouldn’t stay in the background, especially when we were alone together. It feels empty now that I can’t sense it anymore.”

An expression spreads across Dean’s face and Cas forces himself to name it - bashfulness, maybe; shyness, but something pleasant.

“It’s still here, though, and you can feel it if you want; not in the same way as before, but…” and Dean extends his right hand, palm up.

Cas seizes it with his right hand, and for a second they’re just standing in front of each other, looking like they’re awkwardly shaking hands, right there on the threshold of Dean’s bedroom, with Dean wearing just his shirt and boxers. The beginning of a smile lifts the corner of Dean’s mouth, but Cas remains serious while his long fingers wrap around Dean’s hand and his thumb slides right into the hollow in line with Dean’s where he can feel the radial artery beating. None of the knowledge Cas has accumulated in his angel life has left his brain, and he can still picture every single bone, nerve, tendon and vein in Dean’s hand, along with the whole vocabulary to describe it; the small dip where his thumb has fallen is funnily called “the anatomical snuffbox”, he knows that. What he isn’t used to yet is what touching Dean prompts in him.

Time is flowing differently for Cas now that he’s human. He gets caught up in things, and he spaces out without meaning to. He has to actually count the delicate thumps of Dean’s blood flow, and his attention is divided between that and the heat that oozes from Dean’s hand to his, and all the other sensations he’s barely aware of - and he doesn’t know how much time has passed when Dean clears his throat.

“Uhm… Cas… I don’t mind doing this, buddy, but I’m sure you need to rest, and shaking hands on the doorstep isn’t very comfortable. Why don’t you just lose the shoes and pants and we relocate on the bed?”

Cas has been wearing old jeans and a hoodie today; when he woke up in the morning, putting on the clothes he wore all these years as an angel suddenly felt ridiculous. He also likes the way Dean has looked at him all day, like he was new and interesting.

They find themselves dressed down to their shirts and boxers, tucked under the covers and facing each other, and Dean gives his hand back to Cas, who holds it like a fragile animal or a work of art. Dean almost blushes from the attention, but he stays still, allowing Cas to test the sensations. The temperature of Dean’s skin can only be qualified of “warm” now, not characterized with an exact number in various measuring systems.

On the other hand, Cas is now allowed to try things he wouldn’t have thought about a few days ago. He flexes Dean’s fingers in his and is rewarded with a press back in his palm. When he rakes his nails down Dean’s forearm just like that, goosebumps raise nicely under the pad of his fingers. He tries to visualize the tiniest muscles that are attached to each hair and make it stand on end, and is momentarily confused by the sense of scale he now possesses, so different from before, when the infinitesimally small was as familiar to him as the infinitely large. His reflexions have reached galaxies and molecules when Dean speaks, making him jump slightly.

“Hum, Cas? You with me, man?” he asks gently, and Cas blinks at him owlishly. “You seemed far away for a while.”

“Sorry, Dean,” but before he can add anything else, he can’t repress a big yawn. Dean chuckles.

“Maybe sleep would be a good idea, don’t you think?”, and without waiting for a real answer, he tugs on Cas’ hand and presses his lips on the knuckles. All Cas can do is watch him with wonder, then he nods and just lets himself relax into the mattress. He never lets go of Dean’s hand when sleep takes them both.

So Cas needs time and Dean gives it to him. He seems endlessly patient, eternally ready to lie there while Cas maps his back, muscles, vertebras, freckles. In the end Dean falls asleep a little, but Cas doesn’t mind. They leave the library early in the evening, just to have more time to do what Sam must imagine being a lot of sex, but they don’t - not yet. On the fourth night, Dean asks about it.

Cas is stroking Dean’s side, counting his ribs, up, down, then up again. The muscles are twitching under his fingers; it must tickle.

“Do you like touching me?” Dean asks in the low and intimate voice he uses when they’re relaxed like this. Cas is surprised but the answer is ready. “Yes.”

“Don’t you want me to touch you, too? You never asked.”

“I… I never thought about it.” Cas frowns. “When I touch you, I don’t think about my body. I barely feel it.” Cas thinks Dean is going to blush or make a joke, but he remains serious, considering what Cas said.

“Well, that was always your problem, wasn’t it? Not thinking about yourself. But that’s part of being human, of getting used to it. We’re all a little selfish.” And now he smiles. “I, selfishly, would like to touch you and make you feel good. I just want to be sure about what you want.”

“Are you asking if I want to have sex with you?”

This time, Dean does blush. “This is something you always have to ask, Cas. Never assume.”

“I know. And yes, I want to… or I will want to.”

“We have time. No rush. But,” and his voice drops even lower, “I’d like to kiss you. If that’s okay with you.”

Cas nods, but Dean looks like he’s expecting a verbal answer, so he pushes out a breathy “yeah”, and looks at Dean’s face approaching his. His eyes sparkle, it seems, and Cas could totally spend hours counting all the different colors in them, if it wasn’t for Dean’s scent he’d also like to analyze and catalog and bask in for days. Then Dean’s lips touch his. They’re soft and warm and they don’t stop moving, brushing and pressing. Cas tries to keep up with the movements, the sensations, aware as well of his galloping heartbeat and the fact that everything is painfully too much and too little at the same time. He can’t stop wondering how this would have felt if he was still an angel. He would have sensed the changes in Dean, more than his own emotions or sensations. He wouldn’t have been both locked into his body and out of it with overthinking.

Cas doesn’t know exactly where his frantic thoughts have taken him when Dean draws back, just a little.

“Hey,” Dean asks softly, “what’s wrong?”

Cas realizes he’s tense, his shoulders drawn up and his neck aching where it holds his head straining towards Dean.

“Is that too fast?” Dean asks again.

“I don’t know. I can’t slow my thoughts down to… to relax, I guess.”

Dean holds his gaze for a minute. His eyes are tender, but how can Cas be sure about what he reads in them? He has trouble knowing how he feels himself, so he doesn’t know if he can trust his impressions. Then Dean seems to come to a decision. He leans back down on the pillow and says: “Let’s try something else. You kiss me.”

And when Cas looks at him, puzzled and unmoving: “Your rhythm. Your rules. I’ll follow.”

The tension lifts from Cas’ shoulders. Dean trusts him and doesn’t pressure him; he isn’t mad at Cas for having trouble getting on with the “normal” program. And he must know that Cas is starting to be comfortable with exploring with his fingers, because he takes Cas’ hand and puts it on his own cheek, cupping his face. Cas’ thumb automatically starts stroking Dean’s cheekbone, the thin skin under his eye. He takes it all in, the freckles along Dean’s nose, the long eyelashes fluttering when Dean also looks all over Cas’ face.

Cas’ thumb travels to Dean’s mouth, stroking his lower lip and stopping at the corner. This is good. He can imagine how it’s going to feel first, and he finds that having time to anticipate makes it easier to finally lean in and replace the pad of his thumb with his lips.

At first he doesn’t move. Just appreciates the contact of his upper lip’s sensitive bow on the corner of Dean’s mouth. The contrast between the prickly stubble and the softness of the smooth skin below. The faint and regular puff of air on his cheek every time Dean exhales. Then he slowly slides his mouth all along Dean’s closed lips, like a caress. Dean doesn’t move either, doesn’t press further. He puts one hand on Cas’ waist and keeps his eyes open - Cas knows, because his are open too. Sometimes they make eye contact and he knows they’re in this together. He doesn’t doubt Dean’s eyes now.

Cas settles his mouth on Dean’s and presses forward, feeling the give of those full lips. This is a real kiss. Things aren’t just foggy or otherworldly this time, he’s not watching them from afar or analyzing them in terms of neurotransmitters and vital indicators. He’s kissing Dean. The thought, clear and bright, sends something warm pooling down his chest and his belly, and he barely has to name it in his head to know what it is; love; desire. It makes him almost gasp in awe, and his lips part slightly against Dean’s, who follows the movement.

Dean’s breath is hot into his mouth. Cas marvels at the access he’s given into Dean’s body through something as human as a kiss. He seals their mouths together, suddenly craving something more. Dean’s tongue comes to meet his between their barely open lips, and they stay there, time suspended, sucking lightly at each other’s mouth. It lasts and lasts, through many breaths. Cas knows it’s very different from the kisses he’s seen in movies, the passionate and still always elegant choreography. He wonders briefly if maybe this isn’t what he’s supposed to do, but then Dean slides his arm around Cas’ waist, possessively, like he doesn’t want him to go anywhere, and he sighs. It’s a wave that seems to come from deep inside his lungs, something he can’t hold in - it almost lifts Cas, who’s leaning onto Dean’s chest.  

Cas draws back to look Dean in the eyes. They’re glazed and content, a smile ghosting on Dean’s face.

“Are you enjoying this?” Cas asks. He’s surprised to hear his own voice so husky.

“Yeah. Can’t you tell?”

Cas lowers his gaze, embarrassed. He should be able to tell, shouldn’t he? And he thinks he’s starting to, but he’s afraid he can’t trust his new human senses yet.

“Can you tell for me?”

Dean nods and chuckles; Cas hopes he can explain how he knows for sure.

“I can tell you’re thinking a lot, but when you let yourself relax, you like it a lot too.” His hand slips under the hem of Cas’ shirt and rests on bare skin, not suggestive, but reassuring. “Cas, it’s me. It’s _us_ , you know? Whatever you wanna do, I’m gonna enjoy it. And you gotta trust your instinct; the fact that you weren’t born human doesn’t mean you don’t have it.”

Cas is still unconvinced about that, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he kisses Dean again. After all, that’s what he really wants to be doing right now, so maybe it’s his human instinct growing. He’s got time for that… and many other things. Tomorrow, or the day after, he’ll tell Dean how much he loves him. And he’ll show him.


End file.
